JOSEPH BLOW
Cell: 218-555-1234 (I only respond to texts)
Email: jblow69@hotmail.com
Education
University of Wisconsin (Party U!!!)
Degree: Communications
Major: Kicking Ass
Activities: Sleeping...eating?
Accomplishments: School-record keg stand, somehow graduating with only 25% class attendance, making out with that one hot chick from down the hall freshman year.
Work Experience
Parking Attendant, UW
Responsibilities: Naps, letting my friends park for free, occasionally doing homework
Reason for Leaving: I was fairly certain I was going to be fired real soon, so I jetted and beat them to the punch.
Store Clerk, Wal-Mart
Responsibilities: Stealing tons of food (seriously, I didn't buy groceries for a year), making fun of our customers behind their backs, hitting on the one fairly attractive girl who worked there
Reason for Leaving: I felt the work was beneath me. You have to let a bird spread its wings and fly, ya know?
Getting an Allowance
Responsibilities: None. I did nothing yet my parents still tossed me $15 a week. Suckers.
Reason for Leaving: Left for college, although I will probably go back if you don't hire me. Please hire me. Please?
References
"Supersize" Smith, roommate freshman year
My Mommy
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
A Day in the Life of an Unemployed College Grad
9:45 AM: He wakes up, rolls over, and checks the time. He really should get up so he can get an early jump on job applications. On the other hand, some more sleep sounds really nice…
11:37 AM: Zzzzzzzzzz….
12:59 PM: Time to get up. He would get started on those applications right away, but he is starving, so a quick Mickey D’s run is in order first. 10 CCs of Big Mac, stat!
1:47 PM: He checks the mail, only to find yet another “I regret to inform you” (Read: Go screw yourself; people more talented than you also applied for this job) letters from one of the jobs he has applied for.
1:48 – 2:37 PM: Shame spiral. Nearly an hour solid of self-loathing, consisting of: wondering why he isn’t good enough for any damned jobs, cursing his choice of such a generic major, thinking about going to law school, considering becoming a crab fisherman or ice road truck driver.
2:38 PM: Forgets all of his current problems once he realizes Steve Wilkos is on.
2:52 PM: “GET OFF MY STAGE!!!!!!!"
3:35 PM: Naptime.
4:47 PM: Time to finally think about some self-grooming. Contacts instead of glasses? Yes. Shower? Maybe. Shave? Absolutely not.
6:01 PM: He calls that girl he drunkenly met a week ago to see if she wants to hang out sometime soon. No answer. No worries though. He has tried calling her a couple times in the last couple of days with no luck. She’s obviously just been busy. He just leaves a witty voicemail ("You must be tied up because my stomach's in knots waiting for you to call back. Get it? Knots? Tied up? Anyway, I'm just chilling at the pad, so call whenever's good for you. Lates. T-Bone, signing off!") so that she can call him back and work something out. They hit it off really well that night. I mean, she said he should call her, right? Right?
6:45 PM: No callback yet. No big.
7:38 PM: Still no word from her.
8:04 PM: NOT EVEN A TEXT?!?!?!?!
8:57 PM: After swearing off all women forever, it is time for him to dive into an intense and potentially friendship-ending game of Tiger Woods golf on the 360.
10:32 PM: 18 holes, 8 beers, half a bag of pretzels and one sweet victory later, he realizes he still hasn’t searched for or applied for a single job all day. He can do that now, of watch Super Troopers for the seventy-seventh time.
10:38 PM: "You boys like MEX-EEEEEE-CO?!?!?!?!?!”
12:17 AM: Finally time to get down to business. “Get down to business” meaning quickly and half-drunkenly slapping together an application for a job he isn’t really qualified for and doesn’t really want.
1:57 AM: After some late night TV watching, it is time to hit the sack. He makes sure to set his alarm for 9:00 AM, because tomorrow is definitely going to be a productive day.
11:37 AM: Zzzzzzzzzz….
12:59 PM: Time to get up. He would get started on those applications right away, but he is starving, so a quick Mickey D’s run is in order first. 10 CCs of Big Mac, stat!
1:47 PM: He checks the mail, only to find yet another “I regret to inform you” (Read: Go screw yourself; people more talented than you also applied for this job) letters from one of the jobs he has applied for.
1:48 – 2:37 PM: Shame spiral. Nearly an hour solid of self-loathing, consisting of: wondering why he isn’t good enough for any damned jobs, cursing his choice of such a generic major, thinking about going to law school, considering becoming a crab fisherman or ice road truck driver.
2:38 PM: Forgets all of his current problems once he realizes Steve Wilkos is on.
2:52 PM: “GET OFF MY STAGE!!!!!!!"
3:35 PM: Naptime.
4:47 PM: Time to finally think about some self-grooming. Contacts instead of glasses? Yes. Shower? Maybe. Shave? Absolutely not.
6:01 PM: He calls that girl he drunkenly met a week ago to see if she wants to hang out sometime soon. No answer. No worries though. He has tried calling her a couple times in the last couple of days with no luck. She’s obviously just been busy. He just leaves a witty voicemail ("You must be tied up because my stomach's in knots waiting for you to call back. Get it? Knots? Tied up? Anyway, I'm just chilling at the pad, so call whenever's good for you. Lates. T-Bone, signing off!") so that she can call him back and work something out. They hit it off really well that night. I mean, she said he should call her, right? Right?
6:45 PM: No callback yet. No big.
7:38 PM: Still no word from her.
8:04 PM: NOT EVEN A TEXT?!?!?!?!
8:57 PM: After swearing off all women forever, it is time for him to dive into an intense and potentially friendship-ending game of Tiger Woods golf on the 360.
10:32 PM: 18 holes, 8 beers, half a bag of pretzels and one sweet victory later, he realizes he still hasn’t searched for or applied for a single job all day. He can do that now, of watch Super Troopers for the seventy-seventh time.
10:38 PM: "You boys like MEX-EEEEEE-CO?!?!?!?!?!”
12:17 AM: Finally time to get down to business. “Get down to business” meaning quickly and half-drunkenly slapping together an application for a job he isn’t really qualified for and doesn’t really want.
1:57 AM: After some late night TV watching, it is time to hit the sack. He makes sure to set his alarm for 9:00 AM, because tomorrow is definitely going to be a productive day.
Friday, April 15, 2011
The Summer of Tom
Now that summer is just around a few more corners, I am reminded of an old ritual from my past. At the dawn of each new summer, for three or four years running, I would tell my buddy Aaron that the upcoming season would be The Summer of Tom.
Why? Well, I stole the idea from George Costanza. The Summer of George was an unmitigated disaster, so I'm not sure why this was the idea I chose to steal. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment.
Predictably, the SOTs always were sorely disappointing. It's not to say that my summers were horrible, but when you name a season after yourself, you have extremely high hopes. How high? Lemme tell ya.
Jacked, Tanned, and Ready to Party
I dislike working out. Once I pull my fat ass to the gym, I'm fine. The problem is the whole forcing myself to go. The couch and 12 oz. curls are more appealing to me than a bench and 25 lbs. curls. Still, Duluth has Park Point and Park Point has scores of women. I wanted in on some of that action, but I needed some honey to attract those flies. Wait, that didn't sound right. I needed to look fly to attract the honeys. Yeah, that's it. Unfortunately, my goals of looking like this always turned out like this.
Pimpin' All Over the World
(Quick Tangent: I always loved the song and video for "Pimpin' All Over the World", but Luda picked the 50th best looking girl in the video. He's pimpin' ALL over the world! You can do better, Luda. Back to the nonsense.)
Even during the SOTs I was somewhat realistic about my prospects with females. Still, the season was named after me! I had to get somewhat lucky. Unfortunately, women don't flock to the golf course or my living room. Plus, the bar never works for me because I'm either too shy to approach anyone or too drunk to be coherent. It's less than ideal. Point is, I did not get any action. What did I think it was, November? (Inside joke.)
Ruling the World With an Iron Fist
I was in college during the SOTs, so I knew I wouldn't be thrust into an important position at a Fortune 500 company. That said, I figured I would finally score the internship which would lead to the full-time position which would lead to promotions which would lead to this. After all, I know what it takes to be successful in the corporate world. So what jobs did I have during those summers? I was a Bellman, a Guest Services Representative and a failed Insurance Agent. Damnit.
A few years ago, I finally gave up. Why set myself up to fail? I realize the Summers of Tom (Summer of Toms?) were a failure, and that I had much too high expectations for them. Still, I don't regret a thing. To be the best or to have the best, you need to want the best. George Costanza knew that, and so do I. At least I did.
This has been a good year, so I really shouldn't jinx it. Why tempt fate again? Ah screw it.
June-September 2011 shall be THE SUMMER OF TOM!!!
Why? Well, I stole the idea from George Costanza. The Summer of George was an unmitigated disaster, so I'm not sure why this was the idea I chose to steal. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment.
Predictably, the SOTs always were sorely disappointing. It's not to say that my summers were horrible, but when you name a season after yourself, you have extremely high hopes. How high? Lemme tell ya.
Jacked, Tanned, and Ready to Party
I dislike working out. Once I pull my fat ass to the gym, I'm fine. The problem is the whole forcing myself to go. The couch and 12 oz. curls are more appealing to me than a bench and 25 lbs. curls. Still, Duluth has Park Point and Park Point has scores of women. I wanted in on some of that action, but I needed some honey to attract those flies. Wait, that didn't sound right. I needed to look fly to attract the honeys. Yeah, that's it. Unfortunately, my goals of looking like this always turned out like this.
Pimpin' All Over the World
(Quick Tangent: I always loved the song and video for "Pimpin' All Over the World", but Luda picked the 50th best looking girl in the video. He's pimpin' ALL over the world! You can do better, Luda. Back to the nonsense.)
Even during the SOTs I was somewhat realistic about my prospects with females. Still, the season was named after me! I had to get somewhat lucky. Unfortunately, women don't flock to the golf course or my living room. Plus, the bar never works for me because I'm either too shy to approach anyone or too drunk to be coherent. It's less than ideal. Point is, I did not get any action. What did I think it was, November? (Inside joke.)
Ruling the World With an Iron Fist
I was in college during the SOTs, so I knew I wouldn't be thrust into an important position at a Fortune 500 company. That said, I figured I would finally score the internship which would lead to the full-time position which would lead to promotions which would lead to this. After all, I know what it takes to be successful in the corporate world. So what jobs did I have during those summers? I was a Bellman, a Guest Services Representative and a failed Insurance Agent. Damnit.
A few years ago, I finally gave up. Why set myself up to fail? I realize the Summers of Tom (Summer of Toms?) were a failure, and that I had much too high expectations for them. Still, I don't regret a thing. To be the best or to have the best, you need to want the best. George Costanza knew that, and so do I. At least I did.
This has been a good year, so I really shouldn't jinx it. Why tempt fate again? Ah screw it.
June-September 2011 shall be THE SUMMER OF TOM!!!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
First Date Tips for Dudes
Before we found out Mel Gibson is a racist woman beater fake Australian, he starred in a shitty movie called "What Women Want". In it, he could read women's minds. Luckily for you, because I'm here, you guys won't have to. As someone who has gone on half-dozens of first dates, I can help you out.
Talk About Yourself...A Lot
Women are forced to think about and talk about themselves all day. By the time you take them out to Applebee's, the last thing in the world a girl wants to think about is herself. Besides, she agreed to go out with you, so clearly she finds you fascinating. Collect misshapen rocks? Show her pictures of them. Have the high score on the mini golf video game at the bar? Tell her about every hole. Even though you have awesome eyes, you two don't know each other well enough to gaze into each others eyes in silence yet, so fill the silence by talking about everything you. Be sure to bring up ex-girlfriends a lot. How else is she going to know how she measures up unless she knows every detail about the women you've been with?
Drink Aggressively
First of all, you are too shy to begin with, and you get especially nervous around a girl you like. Liquid courage; ever heard of it? Also, she will be impressed that you are able to knock down 8 drinks in 2 hours. She wants a man, not a boy.
Wear Cologne
Loads of it. Clean smelling isn't good enough. You are courting her, not taking her to church. If everything in cologne commercials is true, wearing it will cause her clothes to fall off and her to fall into your bed. As far as I can tell, it also makes you dive into deep water and play polo (the horse kind, not the pool kind). Whatever, just concentrate on the first part.
Holy shit, you actually convinced her to come back to your place? Umm...ok, got it.
Watch a Gory Movie
Violence is an aphrodisiac and you're trying to get this pony in the stable. Some would suggest a romantic comedy (or "RomCom" as douchers would say) but that's dumb. She isn't having a pillow fight with her girlfriends, she is with you. The more blood and screaming the better.
Wow, she wants to stay the night? Unreal. Ok, make sure you do your move, then...
Weep Uncontrollably
Chicks dig a guy with a soft side. Nothing softer that burying your head in your pillow and making it face rain. Besides, making love makes you equal parts happy, sad and terrified. Ride the roller coaster of emotions, my friend.
Talk About Yourself...A Lot
Women are forced to think about and talk about themselves all day. By the time you take them out to Applebee's, the last thing in the world a girl wants to think about is herself. Besides, she agreed to go out with you, so clearly she finds you fascinating. Collect misshapen rocks? Show her pictures of them. Have the high score on the mini golf video game at the bar? Tell her about every hole. Even though you have awesome eyes, you two don't know each other well enough to gaze into each others eyes in silence yet, so fill the silence by talking about everything you. Be sure to bring up ex-girlfriends a lot. How else is she going to know how she measures up unless she knows every detail about the women you've been with?
Drink Aggressively
First of all, you are too shy to begin with, and you get especially nervous around a girl you like. Liquid courage; ever heard of it? Also, she will be impressed that you are able to knock down 8 drinks in 2 hours. She wants a man, not a boy.
Wear Cologne
Loads of it. Clean smelling isn't good enough. You are courting her, not taking her to church. If everything in cologne commercials is true, wearing it will cause her clothes to fall off and her to fall into your bed. As far as I can tell, it also makes you dive into deep water and play polo (the horse kind, not the pool kind). Whatever, just concentrate on the first part.
Holy shit, you actually convinced her to come back to your place? Umm...ok, got it.
Watch a Gory Movie
Violence is an aphrodisiac and you're trying to get this pony in the stable. Some would suggest a romantic comedy (or "RomCom" as douchers would say) but that's dumb. She isn't having a pillow fight with her girlfriends, she is with you. The more blood and screaming the better.
Wow, she wants to stay the night? Unreal. Ok, make sure you do your move, then...
Weep Uncontrollably
Chicks dig a guy with a soft side. Nothing softer that burying your head in your pillow and making it face rain. Besides, making love makes you equal parts happy, sad and terrified. Ride the roller coaster of emotions, my friend.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Oh Wheels, Where Art Thou?
Hello friends. Join me in my DeLorean as we take it back to 1992. I'm 6, I'm hungry and I'm largely helpless. My wonderful mother has agreed to take me to Burger King. As fast food was (and sadly, still is) my favorite thing, I was over the moon. Even better, the King has a sweet group for kids that gives them toys and sends a (Monthly? Bi-monthly? Quarterly? Whatever.) magazine with games and stories starring the Burger King Kids Club. What a fantastic idea! The greatest character of the Club? Wheels.
Wheels is a young man in a rocket powered wheel chair. This leaves me with sooooooo many questions. Was he born paraplegic, or was he given his nickname after some awful accident? Where does he need to go so fast that he needs his chair to be rocket powered? Is he proud of his life and nickname, or does he secretly hate everyone and want to murder the person who first called him that?
What makes Wheels great is that the small window from the late '80s through early '90s is the only period in the history of time he ever could have been created. Before? No one cared enough about diversity to include the kid in the wheelchair. Since? The wheelchair kids are still in but there's no way in Hell they would ever name him "Wheels" in this politically correct world. We can't name characters with Parkinson's "Shaky" anymore than a kid in a wheelchair can be "Wheels". It's just not right. When the BK Club was in full-force, it was the perfect mix of wanting to be diverse but not really knowing how to appropriately go about it. All I know is, the unintentional comedy that it caused enriched my life forever.
Never forget Wheels. I know I won't.
Wheels is a young man in a rocket powered wheel chair. This leaves me with sooooooo many questions. Was he born paraplegic, or was he given his nickname after some awful accident? Where does he need to go so fast that he needs his chair to be rocket powered? Is he proud of his life and nickname, or does he secretly hate everyone and want to murder the person who first called him that?
What makes Wheels great is that the small window from the late '80s through early '90s is the only period in the history of time he ever could have been created. Before? No one cared enough about diversity to include the kid in the wheelchair. Since? The wheelchair kids are still in but there's no way in Hell they would ever name him "Wheels" in this politically correct world. We can't name characters with Parkinson's "Shaky" anymore than a kid in a wheelchair can be "Wheels". It's just not right. When the BK Club was in full-force, it was the perfect mix of wanting to be diverse but not really knowing how to appropriately go about it. All I know is, the unintentional comedy that it caused enriched my life forever.
Never forget Wheels. I know I won't.
Monday, February 21, 2011
These Are a Few of My Least-Favorite Things
Straight Guys Who Call Their Female Friends "Girl" or "Girlfriend"
It's completely acceptable for a girl to call a fellow female she is friendly with "girlfriend". It is also completely acceptable for a guy to call his girlfriend "girlfriend". Gotta call a spade a spade. However, when a straight man (or "man") calls a girl he is friends with "girl" or "girlfriend", it just seems...wrong. First of all, it comes off as kind of gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it does. The other problem with it is, as my independent and unscientific research has proven, the less manly a man's nickname for a given girl is, it is indirectly proportional to the amount of desire he has to bang said girl. That's tough to argue with; it's unscience. In short, it's creepy. I've provided a chart to illustrate my point (Click to enlarge).
Movie and Music Snobs
I have certain tastes. Everyone does. That means there are things I like, and things I dislike. That makes me exactly like anyone else. What drives me crazy is when someone asks if I really like what they really like, then I say no, then they go off on a 15 minute tangent on why I'm wrong. I'm not wrong. I just don't like it.
It's also not that I don't get it. For example, I think Nirvana was a fine band who made fine music. However, I do not think they are amongst the greatest bands of all-time. Just because you do and I don't, doesn't mean I don't get it. Here's a tip: If you want to look like a self-righteous prick that no one in their right mind would ever want to hold a discussion with, start telling everyone you know they don't get things. Get punched in the throat by someone, then go back to being a decent human being again.
Terrible Drivers
I don't consider myself a great driver or even a good driver. I simply consider myself someone who knows how to drive a Goddamn car. No tickets, no accidents caused by me (knocking on wood so hard my knuckles are bleeding), no problems. So what is the problem with some people? Everyone who passed their driving test knows how to use a turn signal, but some choose to ignore their's. This is probably because they have a sandwich in one hand and their phone in the other, but that's exactly my point.
Also, the left lane on the freeway is the fast lane. If you aren't going fast, stay the hell out of it. Every time I have to brake off of my cruise control because some jackass is going the speed limit and lane-blocking me from passing others in the slow lane, I swear to everything holy I lose a day off of the end of my life. The two things that get my temper up more than anything are awful drivers and golf. I can't stop driving and I won't stop golfing because I hate myself, so if you suck at driving, please get better soon. My life longevity depends on it.
Whew, feels good to vent sometimes.
It's completely acceptable for a girl to call a fellow female she is friendly with "girlfriend". It is also completely acceptable for a guy to call his girlfriend "girlfriend". Gotta call a spade a spade. However, when a straight man (or "man") calls a girl he is friends with "girl" or "girlfriend", it just seems...wrong. First of all, it comes off as kind of gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it does. The other problem with it is, as my independent and unscientific research has proven, the less manly a man's nickname for a given girl is, it is indirectly proportional to the amount of desire he has to bang said girl. That's tough to argue with; it's unscience. In short, it's creepy. I've provided a chart to illustrate my point (Click to enlarge).
Movie and Music Snobs
I have certain tastes. Everyone does. That means there are things I like, and things I dislike. That makes me exactly like anyone else. What drives me crazy is when someone asks if I really like what they really like, then I say no, then they go off on a 15 minute tangent on why I'm wrong. I'm not wrong. I just don't like it.
It's also not that I don't get it. For example, I think Nirvana was a fine band who made fine music. However, I do not think they are amongst the greatest bands of all-time. Just because you do and I don't, doesn't mean I don't get it. Here's a tip: If you want to look like a self-righteous prick that no one in their right mind would ever want to hold a discussion with, start telling everyone you know they don't get things. Get punched in the throat by someone, then go back to being a decent human being again.
Terrible Drivers
I don't consider myself a great driver or even a good driver. I simply consider myself someone who knows how to drive a Goddamn car. No tickets, no accidents caused by me (knocking on wood so hard my knuckles are bleeding), no problems. So what is the problem with some people? Everyone who passed their driving test knows how to use a turn signal, but some choose to ignore their's. This is probably because they have a sandwich in one hand and their phone in the other, but that's exactly my point.
Also, the left lane on the freeway is the fast lane. If you aren't going fast, stay the hell out of it. Every time I have to brake off of my cruise control because some jackass is going the speed limit and lane-blocking me from passing others in the slow lane, I swear to everything holy I lose a day off of the end of my life. The two things that get my temper up more than anything are awful drivers and golf. I can't stop driving and I won't stop golfing because I hate myself, so if you suck at driving, please get better soon. My life longevity depends on it.
Whew, feels good to vent sometimes.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Tom TV
Have you ever thought what a younger version of yourself would think if he/she watched a movie of your present-day self? For instance, if 21 year old Tom saw present-day me leaving work, driving home and crashing on my parent's couch, he would be...confused at least.
I'm not saying that because I'm not happy. I am. I also know I'm working towards making my life better than it is now. The thing is, people make these specific and sometimes grand plans for themselves all the time. If we are all being perfectly honest with ourselves, these grand plans rarely work out the way we expect them to.
All of us can end up in these day-to-day routines, or ruts even sometimes, for the longest time. Suddenly, our lives can flip 180 degrees seemingly out of nowhere, and nothing is ever the same again. People get new houses, new jobs, begin or end relationships, become sick, hurt or happy out of the clear blue.
None of this is to say we don't have control over our futures. It's like driving a car. We have no control of the outside conditions, but it's still our responsibility to get where we need to go. Some people are better drivers than others, and some have easier roads to travel than others.
That's what makes reality TV so successful (well, that and it's cheap as hell to produce, but whatever). Even boring people can be fascinating at the right time or in the right light. Some shows are entertaining (The Real World is a very guilty pleasure of mine). Others are exploitative and downright awful (There has been talk of girls trying to get pregnant to get themselves on 16 and Pregnant). It's also why some count people watching as one of their favorite activities. Nothing more that seeing what other people's lives are like.
How would a past version of you react to your present movie?
I'm not saying that because I'm not happy. I am. I also know I'm working towards making my life better than it is now. The thing is, people make these specific and sometimes grand plans for themselves all the time. If we are all being perfectly honest with ourselves, these grand plans rarely work out the way we expect them to.
All of us can end up in these day-to-day routines, or ruts even sometimes, for the longest time. Suddenly, our lives can flip 180 degrees seemingly out of nowhere, and nothing is ever the same again. People get new houses, new jobs, begin or end relationships, become sick, hurt or happy out of the clear blue.
None of this is to say we don't have control over our futures. It's like driving a car. We have no control of the outside conditions, but it's still our responsibility to get where we need to go. Some people are better drivers than others, and some have easier roads to travel than others.
That's what makes reality TV so successful (well, that and it's cheap as hell to produce, but whatever). Even boring people can be fascinating at the right time or in the right light. Some shows are entertaining (The Real World is a very guilty pleasure of mine). Others are exploitative and downright awful (There has been talk of girls trying to get pregnant to get themselves on 16 and Pregnant). It's also why some count people watching as one of their favorite activities. Nothing more that seeing what other people's lives are like.
How would a past version of you react to your present movie?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
